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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26887993">The Tools</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellismiki/pseuds/ellismiki'>ellismiki</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Petscop (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1970s, 1990s, 2010s, Accidental Death, Autism, Bipolar Disorder, Bisexuality, Borderline Personality Disorder, Bulimia, Character Death, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dark Comedy, Depression, Drug Addiction, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Drama, Gay, Kidnapping, Lesbian, Minor Character Death, Murder, PoC, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide, Transgender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:26:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>725</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26887993</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellismiki/pseuds/ellismiki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There's an old windmill in the woods. No one thinks it's of any importance - in fact, barely anyone knows that it exists. This is a windmill that has seen everything: love, hate, despair, life, and death.</p><p>This is where paths cross and fates happen. And though it may not hold significance to you, it holds a great deal of power over some family out there. A family like yours, in a way, with a mother and father and aunts and uncles and children. </p><p>But it's quite unlike yours as well.</p><p>=====</p><p>A personal interpretation and character study of Petscop.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>ONE</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>This is the fucked up story of a fucked up family. Fucked is really the only word that fits. I mean, I could’ve used “dysfunctional” to describe my family. But, most see the words “dysfunctional family” and think, oh, like from that one sitcom. </p><p>There’s parts in my family’s story where it sounds like a sitcom, and parts that are straight out of hell. There’s parts that I still have trouble comprehending. There’s death, there’s life, there’s crises. </p><p>But the most important thing is that I found all of the Leskowitz-Mark-Hammond lore through a video game. That’s a pretty sad sitcom.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. TWO</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">
      <strong>1977</strong>
    </span>
  </em>
</p><p>I guess it started in 1977. Seventies stuff was happening. I don't really care for pop culture all that much - I guess that's the difference between me and Marvin. One has no music taste. The other had one that was all over the place.</p><p>A soprano singing Mozart would warble from the radio of Thomas' rumbling truck. The greasy-haired collegiate would turn the radio to something rock: "That's gay shit." It reminded Marvin of the time when he had paused in the school halls to listen to a girl from the choir room. Probably an alto or mezzo. She noticed him watching, and told all of her friends that he was a creepy freak.</p><p>But he also found himself enjoying rock as well. Occasionally a snippet from a Broadway show, whatever came up on the news. Music had always been a fascination for him.</p><p>Thomas shouted something. The truck was too loud.</p><p>"What?!"</p><p>"I said, I'm cutting your hair!!"</p><p>"Oh, fuck!!"</p><p>Jill was supposed to do it. Stupidly perfect Jill, who had disappeared today to "take a trip" with her acid-dealing friends. Now, her crazy-haired boyfriend was doing it. </p><p>Whatever. I mean, it's not like Marvin cared how bad it would look. A few years before he stopped caring much about what other people thought. He'd always walk weird to others, but to him his stride was confident. He handled everything with a smirk. He owed no-one anything.</p><p>Daniel was his only soft spot.</p><p>•|•</p><p>The Hammonds were across the street from the Marks, and though they were a secluded family, everyone knew that the father was an abusive drunk and the mother was too emotionally detached to do anything. The kids were seen with welts on their arms and faces. </p><p>Marvin met them when the funeral was held for his dad. It was maybe the late 60s - he didn't really want to remember. He was young. The Vietnam War was a strange concept that he easily forgot, until his father was shot and killed. After the burial, they'd gone home and Ma had gone upstairs to scream. Jill went into the kitchen to drink. Marvin sat in the living room, awkward and afraid.</p><p>Three knocks rapped at the door.</p><p>He opened it. On the porch was a small boy. Black-grey eyes peered under a curtain of hair. </p><p>"My name's Daniel."</p><p>"Hi." He stood at the door, unmoving, biting his lip.</p><p>"Mom made this casserole for you guys."</p><p>"Oh." Marvin stared down at the tin in Daniel's hands. "Thank you."</p><p>"Where should I put it?" </p><p>"Um. I'll take it."</p><p>Marvin gathered the tin in his arms and rushed it to the kitchen. Grayish sunlight made the house seem blacker. Jill, eyes red, sneered at him. "What do you have?"</p><p>"Casserole. Neighbors made it."</p><p>She stared out the window. "Fuck the neighbors." Pause. "Fuck what they want."</p><p>Running back out, Marvin found the boy turning and leaving. "Daniel!"</p><p>He turned around. "What?"</p><p>"Can I come home with you?"</p><p>Daniel was silent. For some reason, Marvin suddenly understood. "Well, there's a park nearby."</p><p>"I have to get straight home."</p><p>"Tell them we talked a bit. In my room."</p><p>"But - "</p><p>"Please?"</p><p>Daniel's eyes slowly lit up. "Okay."</p><p>And so they played pretend at the park. They were astronauts on the top of the slides; monkeys on the bars; flying on the swings. They dreaded home. Home meant the severity of reality.</p><p>The playground was demolished one day to make room for more houses in the neighborhood, but the boys simply found more ways to play pretend. Exploring in the woods, for example. Years passed and the pair were teenagers and in 1977, they met the Leskowitz sisters. In other words, the brave conquistadors struck gold.</p>
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